


Like troubled water running cold

by JoCarthage



Series: Long distances and close calls (2020 phone banking accountability fic series) [8]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Post S2, exploring powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: Michael learns to fly.--This is a fic series where, after each day of phone banking for the democratic ticket in the US's 2020 presidential election, I will write a fic that's 10x the number of calls I made. So if I make 14 calls, I write and post a 140 word fic. If I made 82 calls, 820 words. If you'd like to start phone banking, you can sign-up for a good, comprehensive training here: https://demvolctr.org. If you're in the US and need help 0) finding your polling place, 1) knowing what to bring, 2) filling out the ballot, 3) anything weird happens at the polls, you can get help through the voter hotline (833-336-8683 || text ACCESS to 43367) or at http://iwillvote.com.--Title is from Lewis Capaldi's "Before You Go": https://genius.com/Lewis-capaldi-before-you-go-lyrics and this fic was inspired by this TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@sydwayzface/video/6885162986500099334
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Long distances and close calls (2020 phone banking accountability fic series) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970539
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	Like troubled water running cold

**Author's Note:**

> I made 82 calls today; I got back from 4 hours building benches and anti-ground squirrel fortifications at the community garden (my 3 sisters plantings came up a week early and the ground squirrels had a grand feast on their early leaves) today, took a shower, had lunch, and passed out. So by the time I got to phone banking, it was in the evening. Since we don't call after 9pm in anyone's timezone, that meant over a 2 hour shift, I moved between 3 states. So, first I called 32 people in Georgia; then 30 in Texas; then 20 in Nevada, for a total of 850 calls so far. 
> 
> For the other people phone banking -- if you are open to sharing your number of calls/texts/postcards (either total, per week, per day) and if my style of writing is your jam, let me know what kind of fic you'd like in the comments or on tumblr (http://jocarthage.tumblr.com) and I'll try to write you a one-shot!

> **Alex** : You'll text me before you go?
> 
> **Michael** : Of course
> 
> **Alex** : Ok.
> 
> **Alex** : Be safe.

Michael looked at the words on the screen of the satellite phone Alex had gotten him, kicking his heels as they dangled over the wall of the Monjeau Fire Tower at Lincoln National Forest.

He'd practiced, been practicing.

It started with Alex, really. Watching him struggle after a hard day researching in the bunker, Michael had used his TK to take a little of his weight off his leg. After Alex had explained in short, clear sentences that he needed to _ask_ before helping, he'd said, voice casual:

"You ever tried that for yourself?"

And the thing was -- Michael hadn't. Sure, he'd experimented with his powers more than either of his siblings but lifting his own body up? It just felt too fanciful, too comic book. If he was going to leave earth's surface, it was going to be in a vehicle he built, not with his powers.

But Alex had asked in that soft, suggesting voice and suddenly, it hadn't seemed so stupid an idea. The thing was, things were ok between them. Friendly, even. Alex was still unpacking a lot of baggage he'd kept stowed until his biodad was in the ground, had said he didn't have space to be in a relationship right now. But he wasn't with anyone else. So they worked together and hung out and it was, soft. Quiet. Steady.

It was a kind of steady that gave Michael space to spend time on this.

So Michael had started learning to fly.

He'd started by hopping, alone in his bunker where nobody could make fun of how he fell on his ass every _single_ time he got the balance wrong. He could slow his descent but it gave him a pounding headache. 

But he kept trying. Once he could hover for a few seconds, he started watching videos of wingsuit gliders and parachutists and rich guys in Maui using water jetpacks. He bought a wingsuit with some of Noah's money. He got better, building up what Isobel called a muscle and he thought of more like a door. But he couldn't fly in Roswell. He could jump off the roof of his truck and sort of glide on the fall, but anyplace high enough to get him to the speed the suit needed? He'd be visible for miles and he didn't need Sheriff Valenti or Dark Sky getting called out. 

Michael had found the decommissioned fire tower for rent online and booked a long weekend the ranger said had freed-up when some tourists canceled. He'd taken his truck up the steep and dusty dirt roads, a week's worth of food and water and reading materials in the back along with his well-loved sleeping bag. As soon as he'd parked, he went to sit on the edge of the retaining wall, and look out at canyons and acres of wild scrubland and pines and mountains made of the same white limestone as the Conservation Core volunteers had used to rebuild this fire tower in 1940.

> **Michael** : I'm going to try.
> 
> **Alex** : I call in an hour to see how it went?
> 
> **Michael** : Perfect. 

Then he stood, shrugging his jacket off onto the hand-hewn stones of the wall. He stripped off his shirt and boots, jeans and undershirt. He changed into his wingsuit.

Then came the calibration tests: getting used to the higher altitude, the lower temperature, the suit. Up and down the stairs to the roof he ran; after two dozen tries where he never so much as stubbed a toe, Michael looked out into the evergreen valley. He pulled out his phone and texted Alex before he could stop himself.

> **Michael:** I love you.

Michael shoved the phone into his inner chest pocket, zipping it up tight. Then he strode to the wall, taking a breath of the warm late summer air. He worked his toes over the edge of the rock, looking down. He felt his phone buzz against his heart, but didn't check it.

With one last look at the the place where the mountains met the sky, Michael Guerin jumped.

The air rushed past his ears, whipping through the wingsuit before it _caught_ and -- with just a burst of TK to give him added lift -- he was _flying_. He swooped through pines and spruce, pulling just above the treeline, the sound and the smells and the shape of it all rushing through that closed-off part of him, opening him up in ways he'd never imagined being able to feel.

He soared through the forest for long, long minutes, before giving himself just enough lift coming up over a ridge-line to glide back to the fire tower. He landed, chest heaving, nearly whooping with joy.

He jerked open the zipper of his suit, pulling out his phone. On the screen it said:

> **Alex** : I love you too.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the view Michael had around the look out tower: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b9SN0pZUzE  
> \--  
> Top quote from today's phone banking:  
> \- Alline (GA): "You're about the 10th person who's called. I understand why, it's a terrible time."  
> \- Rosalyn (GA): "I've seen very few Trump signs." (Her entire suburb is full of Biden signs; she said people were stealing them, but then people got replacements)  
> \- Stephanie (TX), to a man in the room with her right before she hung-up: "Es una machina." (I tried to explain I wasn't a machine but she'd already hung-up; sometimes I purposefully make my pitch sound less polished and professional so it's clear I'm a real, live human, not a robot on the phone)
> 
> These quotes don't really sum-up the best part of the work today, so here's a quick summary: today I helped a teenager decide to drive her grandmother to the polls in Texas, I helped a college student figure out where to vote in Las Vegas, and helped a Mom figure out when she could make it to the polls in Nevada. I also removed about a dozen people from the database because they'd already voted, which will help conserve resources and talked another half-dozen through how to update their voter files so their numbers weren't associated with the wrong voters. Neither of those last two will help us win the election (other than saving other volunteers time), but they will help in future elections, where cleaner databases and better voter identification. Because the problems we need to fix will take much more than one election to handle, but we need to win this one to have the tools we need to move forward.  
> 


End file.
